Tide of Battle
by avalanches
Summary: Ryanne Whelan has been having dreams of battlefields and killings all her life. Each night her dreams are filled with gruesome stories and visions of bullet wounds to the chest or head, each ending with a life. When she moves to Beacon Hills, her dreams only get more and more vivid, and suddenly it isn't just bullet wounds that are killing people. It's alphas and darachs. S3.
1. Prologue

**RYANNE WHELAN** didn't know where she was.

The last thing she had remembered before drifting off to sleep was being completely uncomfortable on her mattress on the floor and thin blanket. She also remembered her pillow being too fluffy for her to bear, but she didn't remember falling asleep – or waking up for that matter.

Of course she had woken up. This was much too vivid for a dream. The colors weren't blurred and she somehow knew she was supposed to be there for something; of course it wasn't a dream. She was there to warn Gale.

She wasn't sure who Gale was.

Ryanne took a staggering step forward, her boot getting caught on a tree branch. Ryanne fell to the ground, the rain falling around her. Tears mixed with the rain as Ryanne tried to stand, to get Gale, to tell Gale something… only she couldn't remember what.

Okay, now it was a dream. Ryanne didn't know who Gale was. Ryanne wiped her eyes and tried to stand, but an unseen weight pushed her down, like she was cemented to the ground. Ryanne let out a call for help, her breathing getting heavy.

Something was coming. Something bad was coming.

Right as Ryanne was able to lean onto her knees, a shot from a gun rang out. Ryanne felt the hard blow, as if it had been her that had been hit. She grasped at her chest, the words flooding back to her.

Gale. Tell. House. _Phillip._

She had needed to tell Gale that Phillip was going to die. She didn't know how or why she knew, but Phillip was going to die. Another shot rang out and Ryanne cried out, her tears falling again. Phillip didn't deserve to die like this, away from his family.

The sounds of the Civil War rang on around her.

Ryanne Whelan woke up.

Panting, she pulled her hair back away from her neck to feel the sweat that had collected there. That was the third dream in a row. The first had been someone named John Hamilton, who had died from a bullet to the head. The second had been a young lady, probably only fourteen, who had gone outside at the wrong moment and gotten hit with the bullet. And now this one, a man named Phillip, who had gotten shot in the chest.

Ryanne sighed before looking at her alarm clock. Her official first day at Beacon Hills High School was tomorrow, and she wanted to get a good night's rest. "Damn," she muttered in relief, happy that the clock said she had at least five more hours to sleep.

Ryanne tried to get the image of Phillip out of her mind. She didn't want to dream about him again. However, when she was still awake twenty minutes later, Ryanne sighed and rolled over on her side, breathing calmly to try and lull herself to sleep. When her eyes closed, all she saw was the battlefield.

There was one small difference, however. A wolf was watching her with weary eyes.


	2. One

Ryanne was surrounded by freshman.

Usually, at her old school, they just mailed the schedule to her. Apparently at Beacon Hills, that was only the case if you had already been registered before August eleventh or were an incoming freshman. Since she wasn't registered, she had to wait in the cafeteria for her schedule just like all the freshmen. When the line she was standing in finally decreased, it revealed a secretary-looking woman with glasses perched on her nose and her hair down and wavy.

"Last name?" the woman asked, looking up to give Ryanne a small smile.

"Whelan," Ryanne replied. She watched as the woman shuffled through several schedules of freshmen until she came across Ryanne's.

"First period is Ms. Blake, English eleven." The woman pulled out a small map of the school and circled a room in red pen. "This should help. If you have trouble finding any of your classes, our students are very welcoming. I'm sure they'd be happy to help."

Ryanne gave her a small smile, knowing that teenagers were anything _but_ helpful. She nodded anyway and grabbed the map and schedule from the table before she turned away, walking in what she hoped was the direction to her new classroom. On the way, her cell phone buzzed, but she ignored it and tried to find her way to the classroom. She was already late enough as it was; she didn't want to get in trouble for standing in the middle of the hall, reading a text message.

The class was completely silent as she walked inside, wincing when every head in the room turned to look at her. The gazes that met her were filled with confusion, wondering who this new girl was. The teacher, a smaller woman with dark hair pulled back with a clip, smiled and walked over to meet the blonde, who was standing with her arm outstretched to hand the teacher her schedule.

"I wasn't told I'd be getting a new student today, but welcome to the class, nevertheless." Ms. Blake handed the schedule back to the blonde before turning to the class. "Class, this is Ryanne Whelan. She's new to Beacon Hills. Be sure to be very welcoming."

Ryanne ignored the snickers at the word "welcoming" and tried to find an empty desk. There was one shoved into the corner of the room, completely cut off from everyone else. Ryanne didn't mind. It wasn't like she was going to be chatting up a storm in English, anyway. She made her way to the back of the classroom, wincing when the desk squeaked as she sat in it. The stares followed her, as if they were one person.

Ryanne simply ignored them.

Ms. Blake gave them three sentences – the warm-up of the day, she called it – to fix and rewrite. It was completely silent, the sound of pens scratching across the paper the only noise in the room. Everyone jumped when the door squeaked open, revealing the vice principal. He whispered something to Ms. Blake before she nodded.

"Mr. McCall?"

Ryanne watched as a boy with dark hair and tan-looking skin snapped his head up, looking at their teacher. She held up one finger and bent it towards her, signaling that she wanted him to go to her. Ryanne noticed the girl in front of him looking mildly embarrassed, like she had been caught stealing candy or something.

The class went back to work as if nothing had happened.

Ryanne opened her English book and began the assignment Ms. Blake assigned to the class. She tried to read the words, but her eyes kept glazing. She knew she didn't get enough sleep the previous night. She was too busy wondering why she was having dreams of war veterans and Phillip dying. She didn't know who the hell Phillip was. She signed and scribbled something down, only to realize that she was on the wrong page. With a slight huff, she turned to the right page and tried to concentrate.

The weirdest part about her dream had been the wolf.

There had never been a wolf in her dream before. Never. Not once. Most of her dreams were about wars fought and someone dying, but never about a wolf. Ryanne tried to ignore the frustration building up in her. She needed to focus on her classwork, not a rabid wolf running around in her dreams.

Ryanne jumped when there was a distinct _thump_ heard. All the heads in the classroom turned to see the blood left from a crow running into the window. Ms. Blake walked to the window, inspecting it. Ryanne watched as a look of panic slowly slid across her face, and the blonde easily heard the sounds of the birds' distinct squawk. Ryanne tried to ignore it. She didn't want to fall behind on her grades again, like last year.

There was another thump on the window, and the glass cracked before one came flying into the classroom. After the leader, a swarm of birds flew into the room, pecking on heads and arms and every inch of body known to man. Ryanne jumped underneath her desk, but not before a nasty bird clawed her forehead.

"Get down! Everyone!"

Ryanne tried to stay curled up in a tight ball underneath her desk, but her head was starting to throb. They had sliced her arm, too, and she could see the blood beginning to taint her shirt. Raising a shaking hand to her forehead, she felt liquid on her fingers. Tears welled in her eyes and she bundled, trying to make herself as small as possible.

It must have been minutes, but it felt like hours. The birds that had flown in left suddenly, as if someone else was beckoning them. When there were no more indications of the crows, everyone slowly began to peek their heads out from underneath their desks. Ryanne tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks before she popped her head out to survey the damage.

There were feathers everywhere. They littered the floor like trash, along with several specks of blood from the birds and the students. Ryanne stood straight and caught eyes with the brunet boy with the plaid shirt.

He walked over to her, a small and sympathetic smile on his face. That wasn't what caught her eyes, however. It was the expression of recognition, like he had seen something like this before. "Sorry about that awful welcoming committee to Beacon Hills," he said softly.

Ryanne scoffed lightly. "It wasn't expected, I admit."

The boy nodded before wincing a little bit. Raising a finger to point to her head and then her arm, he said: "You should probably get those cuts checked out."

"Probably," she agreed. He gave her another reassuring smile, like he was trying to comfort her before he chuckled a little, pulling a feather from the end of her hair.

"The paramedics will be here soon. You should sit down. It looks like that cut is gushing and you probably don't want to lose that much blood standing up."

She nodded, taking the boy's advice as she lowered herself into a seat. He gave another little smile before walking to the strawberry blonde, who was shaking still. Ryanne imagined she would be shaking if she didn't live through a different war every night, but she did. She didn't suffer through fear normally. It was like something in her brain was wired differently or something. She brought her hand to the cut on her head and winced when a sharp stinging made its way to her skull. She saw the paramedics come into the classroom and saw the boy in the plaid subtly point them in her direction.

"Ma'am, can you lower your hand for me?" The woman asked. Ryanne nodded stiffly and lowered her fingers. The woman was nothing but gentle as she inspected the cut, grabbing the first aid kit next to her. "This might sting a little bit, but it'll make sure you don't get any infections those birds might have carried."

Ryanne nodded and braced herself for the stinging of the spray they had. Ryanne winced slightly, but before she knew it, the woman was smoothing ointment on the cut and patting a large piece of gauze on it. Once her head was taken care of, they moved on to the cut on her arm, repeating the same procedure before the paramedic took out a clipboard.

"We need to check your vitals. We've got cars outside with all the equipment. You'll need to talk to the Sheriff and then we can get you checked."

Ryanne nodded stiffly. The paramedic smiled softly and pat Ryanne's knee before directing the Sheriff over in the blonde's direction. The boy in the plaid shirt followed, staying close to the man.

"You alright?" the Sheriff asked. Although people in positions of authority like him were meant to be feared, he had compassion in his eyes. Ryanne nodded mutely. "I'm going to have to ask a few questions, if that's alright?" The boy in plaid nodded behind him, tongue sticking out in concentration as he watched the Sheriff.

A vein appeared on the Sheriff's forehead. "Sorry about my son. He gets a little too excited about my cases."

Ryanne's eyes widened in surprise. "E-er no problem." As the Sheriff glared at his son again, Ryanne sent a small smile. "He actually helped."

The Sheriff's eyebrows rose. "My son? Helped you?" He turned to look at said boy, who was scratching the back of his neck. When he noticed the look his father was giving him, he simply waved with a grin. He turned back to Ryanne with a look of disbelief. "Really?"

"Hey, I can help. Sometimes."

Ryanne scratched the edge of the gauze. "Look, I'm sorry but I just really want to get this over with. I'm not trying to be rude or anything, it's just-"

"No need to explain," the Sheriff said. "This'll only take a few minutes."

Ryanne nodded, letting out a deep breath. She pulled out her phone as the Sheriff tried to tell Stiles to get away from them while he spoke to her. Reading the text message, her breath got caught in her throat.

_Don't walk into that classroom. It's a battlefield._

The scary thing was that she had sent it to herself.

**SOUNDTRACK:**

**The Jungle Giants - Skin to Bone: Ryanne arrives at Beacon Hills High for the first time.**

**Ryanne's outfit in the external link!**


	3. Two

Ryanne turned fitfully in her bed.

It was different this time. The sounds of war weren't ringing around her. She didn't have to warn anyone of impending doom. There were no gunshots going off in her ears as if she were right next to them. Ryanne raised her fingers to her throat, where a dull pain was throbbing in the vein, but it was barely noticeable. Ryanne felt relief for the first time in months. This dream seemed almost normal; no one was dying. Not tonight.

Why was it that she felt so on edge?

Ryanne turned, looking at the landscape of the picture in her mind. It looked like a clearing of some sort, with grass and trees erupting from the ground, covering the clearing in wonderful shade. Ryanne saw a small bit of fog coming from behind the tree, floating around in the air.

She almost didn't see it.

It was so fast that she had trouble making out what it was, but it was there. It hid behind the trees, and the fog suddenly got thicker. Ryanne didn't think the landscape was pretty anymore. The trees were too large and it was too dark. It was eerily quiet in the clearing. Ryanne heard a small beep and looked down at her trembling fingers, where her cell phone was shaking in her palm. She raised the screen to her face.

_Get out of Beacon Hills._

Ryanne shivered and suddenly wished she was awake. "Wake up," she said to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. "Wake up, wake up."

When she opened her eyes, she saw the shadow standing in between the two tallest trees in the clearing. Ryanne cocked her head to the side, studying the outline of the person before something walked past her, eyes wide and in shock.

All Ryanne saw was blonde hair. The blonde hair walked closer and closer to the shadow, as if in a trance. The shadow grew sinister, smirking as it held a gun in its hand, easily pointing it at the blonde. Ryanne wanted to scream out, yell at her to get away, but her voice was lodged in her throat and wasn't escaping. The trigger made a click as the shadow pulled it easily.

Ryanne screamed and shot up in her bed, sweaty once again. It were times like these that she was happy her parents were heavy sleepers; she had really only woken them up with her screams once. Ryanne pulled her hair back to try and cool off the back of her neck before noticing she had a text message. With shaking fingers, she opened it.

_GET OUT OF BEACON HILLS._

Ryanne had dark circles under her eyes the next day at school.

Her parents had convinced her to stay home, but she didn't want to miss a day so early in the year. Plus, if her nightmares got any worse, she'd probably just go see a doctor and get some pills or something. Ryanne jumped slightly when she heard the sound of a locker slamming.

The dream last night had scared her more than she'd like to admit. It had never been that vivid before, never with so much shadows and things that went bump in the night. Ryanne usually knew the victim's names, but this blonde was a mystery. Ryanne wasn't even sure she'd ever seen her before. The blonde was on her way to her locker to shove books inside when she felt it.

Two identical sets of eyes on her.

Ryanne turned slightly, moving her gaze to the two large twins in the middle of the hallway, walking right next to each other. They were staring at her, their gaze lit up as if they had hit the jackpot. Ryanne didn't like it. She quickly looked away and slammed her locker shut, hurrying off to English with Ms. Blake, whose room didn't look like a single thing had gone wrong the day prior. The janitors sure knew how to do their jobs well.

"Alright, class," Ms. Blake said when everyone shuffled into their seats. She saw the boy in the plaid look around the room until his eyes landed on her; well, more so the scabbed cut she had tried to cover with makeup on her head, but she liked to believe that's not what he was looking at.

"I know yesterday was a bit hectic. To be completely honest, that wasn't in my syllabus," Ms. Blake joked, laughing a little until she realized no one was laughing with her. It ceased immediately. "However, the show must go on and English is our show. So, please pull out your assignments I had you start on yesterday and finish them. And don't worry if it got ruined yesterday; I understand. You have twenty minutes."

Ryanne pulled out her slightly mangled piece of paper she had collected from the ground yesterday and transferred her answers to a new, neater sheet. As her pen scratched across the paper absentmindedly, she looked over to the boy in the plaid.

He had dark hair that was spiked upwards, leaving his face uncovered. He was a little lanky, but Ryanne could tell that he was somewhat muscular underneath the tee and plaid flannel. He was whispering back and forth with the people around him, including the strawberry blonde from yesterday. When Ryanne's eyes returned back to her paper, they widened.

On the white paper, in her handwriting, it read:

_2 MORE LEFT._

Ryanne crumbled the piece of paper into a ball and ignored the stares she was getting as she shakily tossed it in her backpack.

A book slamming down on the desk brought the whole class out of their stupor.

"The stock market is based on two principals," Coach Finstock, who was easily the weirdest and loudest teacher Ryanne had ever encountered, said. "What are they?"

The boy from her English class – McCall, if she remembered correctly – raised his hand eagerly, proud to know the answer.

"Yes, McCall. You can go to the bathroom," Finstock said in an offhand tone. Ryanne tried not to snort at the offended look on the poor boy's face. "Anybody else?"

"No, Coach. I know the answer," McCall stated. Finstock looked at the boy for a second until suddenly a wheezing sound came from behind his lips, startling Ryanne. She looked back to the boy, who was staring at Coach with a dumb look.

"Oh, you're serious?"

"Yeah, it's risk and reward," McCall replied, everyone turning in their seats to look at the Latino boy. Ryanne figured that getting answers right – or even volunteering to know the answer – was a new thing for him. She shrugged. She guessed she was happy for him for turning a new leaf, but she wasn't going to ogle him as he spoke the right answer.

"Wow! Who are you? And what have you done to McCall?" Finstock stepped forward towards the boy, waving his arms wildly as he spoke. "Don't answer that, I like you better. I like you better." Stepping back, Finstock looked around the room. "Does anybody have a quarter? A quarter?"

Ryanne saw the boy in plaid – Stilinski was his last name, which she had learned from the Sheriff – reach into his pocket for a coin when something flew out. It was blue, foiled, and had such a distinct packaging that Ryanne had to snort a little. The condom landed on the ground with an almost deafening boom.

"Stilinski, I think you, uh… dropped this." Finstock set the condom on his desk, ignoring the pitiful look of humiliation on Stilinski's face. "And, congratulations." Stepping back to the front of the room, Finstock began to speak again.

"Risk and reward…" his voice trailed off as Ryanne moved to doodle on her notebook. She really didn't care about economics much – even though it was required to graduate – and the nightmare she had the previous night had jumbled her brain up. She felt on edge, as if something were going to pop out and attack her.

Ryanne's pencil slid across the paper, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she drew. She didn't know exactly what it was yet, but she felt almost compelled to draw. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as the door swung open, catching her attention.

The Sheriff stood in the center of the classroom, eyes tight. "Stiles," he said. Ryanne pondered this. Was Stiles Stilinski really this kid's full name? She didn't think the Sheriff hated him _that_ badly.

"Yeah, Coach, I got it."

"Stiles," the Sheriff said again, voice stern.

Stiles looked up and Ryanne couldn't help but notice the look of doom cross his face. The Sheriff led him outside, and Ryanne felt her heart go out to him. His dad had looked pretty serious. Stiles was probably in a lot of trouble or something.

Ryanne went back to drawing, her pencil sliding across the paper with ease as a kid named Danny went up to try his risk and reward chances. Ryanne heard the pinging and clinking that signaled he had won, but Ryanne was too focused on her paper.

It was an outline. The outline of the shadow she had seen in her dream. The only thing that shone through the black pencil marks was a wicked grin, lip corners turned up menacingly.

Ryanne slammed her notebook shut. On second thought, maybe failing economics wasn't such a good idea after all.


End file.
